Monday, 8 March 2010
And then . . .
It was so cosy in bed—just another half an hour . . . the same dream again — well would you believe it. Worse though, a dreadful nightmare: trees bent under the weight of snow on snow, birds had buggered off (where do birds go anyway?) almond blossom, a distant memory; my car had become a woolly blob. Woke, phew, awful dream, must really now open the shutters . . . odd, seems incredibly quiet outside.